


Before the Bodies Fall

by kdryer



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Love, Mutual Pining, Post Season 7, arriving at winterfell, end of the world type shit, pre knighting, slowburn comes to fruition, when these idiots decide to face the truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:51:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdryer/pseuds/kdryer
Summary: When Jaime arrives at Winterfell, he can't avoid his feelings for a certain blue-eyed warrior. When the Long Night rears its head, truths must be revealed.





	Before the Bodies Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for clicking on my fan fiction! For several years now, I have been obsessed with the relationship between Jaime and Brienne, both in the show and in the books. I haven't written a piece of fiction in several years, and fan fiction in four or five years, and I am incredibly excited to share my first piece with all of you. I'm much more of a poet than a fiction writer so please be patient and lenient with me. I wish you all good fortune in the wars to come and much love to our favorite ship.

Strapping the golden hand to his wrist, Jaime winced as the frozen attachment hinged itself to the stump. No matter the time that passed, it seemed the scar tissue would always be sensitive.

 

_Hands of gold are always cold._

 

The frigid air whipped across the side of his face and he silently thanked the gods for the facial hair that’s grown over the last several moon turns. _Winter is here,_ the Stark words finally illuminating their truth and along with it, an unprecedented army of the dead.

 

His heart yearned for the warmth of King’s Landing, the sun kissing his golden hair, the Lannister army yielding for his commands. Instead he was alone in Winterfell, actively preparing to either freeze to death or die fighting White Walkers.

 

He sheathed the sword alongside his hip bone. _Widow’s Wail_ , he scoffed. _As if anyone needs reminding of Joff’s cruelty._ He began limping towards the dining hall, hunger gnawing at his stomach after several hours of training young fighters.

 

He remembered the tension when he first arrived at Winterfell. The Dragon Queen faced him with barely contained resentment, trying to remain objective but her words cut like a blade. Lady Sansa, looking like a more beautiful version of Catelyn, glaring at him with a coldness that rivaled the winter’s wind. Jon Snow, attempting to maintain a stoic appearance on his face which ultimately gave way to boredom.

 

The new Queen couldn’t trust the _Kingslayer_ , who at one point forsaked his vows and stabbed her father in the back. However, the Dragon Queen failed to find dishonor in the words of the Maid of Tarth. Jon wasn’t convinced either, but upon the promise from Lady Brienne, who adamantly swore her own sword to his sister, he gave his approval. He didn’t trust Jaime, and mayhaps never would, but he couldn’t afford to lose any potential men.

 

After a winded conversation, the three begrudgingly agreed to his stay within the castle. It took a lot of contriving and even then, it was only after Brienne of Tarth swore repeatedly that he would be an irreplaceable fighter in the war to come and a formidable adversary as a wight. Jaime couldn’t resist the lump that formed in his throat as she came to his defense. To find a true friend at the end of the world seemed more unlikely than a maiden in Mole’s Town.

 

Moreso, Brienne promised that he could train the next generation of fighters. Even with the strained time and resources, many young girls and boys couldn’t properly wield a sword-most didn’t even have the strength. But every young steward, maiden, stableboy, lord and lady needed the agility to battle.

 

For the last half a fortnight, men have trained day and night, oftimes barely able to stumble back to their bedchambers with their sore muscles and bruised skin. While time for training is limited due to the impending great war to come, Jon Snow emphasized if they fall, the land of the living will become a graveyard of the ashes and there will be no families, riches, or whores for anyone. This incentivized even the most craven of men to set aside their lustful nights in brothels for extra time in the training yard. The clank of swords could be heard echoing throughout Winterfell at all hours. Many times Jaime thought he heard swords more than talk.

 

Most days now, Jaime found himself along with these dozens of young girls and boys, observing as they flail around with a sword far too heavy. He struggled to help them hold the weapons properly, to balance the weight so they wouldn’t fall over, to practice their aim and marksmanship, to increase their resiliency. They’re children of summer and they’ve yet to witness the true horrors of winter and of war. A few of the girls would weep after an hour, bodies bruised from the wooden weapons and gasping for breath in the frigid temperatures. And on occasion, he would watch as the young men would tremble as they spoke to one another, shaking with the fear of tomorrow as death breathed down their necks.

 

_If only the honorable Ned Stark could see me_ , he thought to himself, _wielding one hand and fighting for the north._ As Jaime squeezed onto a bench with fellow soldiers, he couldn’t help but jeer at himself when thinking that he’s voluntarily feasting alongside Wildlings, the Mad King’s daughter, Ned Stark’s bastard and the remaining Stark children, one of whom he’s responsible for maiming. Life is full of cruel japes such as this. Even in children’s wildest fantasies, none would have guessed that a lion would break bread with wolves, and he couldn’t fault them. Watching Jon Snow and the Dragon Queen sitting at the head of the table still made him feel like an oathbreaker, only now severing his familial ties instead of his knightly vows.

 

If he thought Ned Stark would be surprised, the thought of Tywin seeing him, after all he sacrificed to secure the Lannister family line, was enough to make him tremble at his core. The idea was almost comical, if not for the memory of finding his father dead at the hand of his brother. Who was a greater enemy to the Lannisters than the Lannisters themselves?

 

He turned his attention to the Maid of Tarth, sitting awkwardly alongside a poised Sansa Stark as they conversed amongst themselves. She was smiling crookedly with her cheeks tinted red: something he once found distasteful but now finds strangely endearing. Although the Lady of Winterfell was quite tall herself, far taller than many of the ladies her age, Brienne towered over her and was nearly double the width across. A stranger unfamiliar with her might easily believe she’s a man-if not for those eyes. Her bright sapphire eyes seemed to glow, even in the darkness of the castle, even in the darkness of winter, even now. Men didn’t have eyes like that.

 

He recalled the one vow he helped follow through on, however indirectly, was his promise to assist in returning the Stark girls to Winterfell. He wouldn’t have followed through on the promise if not for Brienne, a woman so honorable that it only made sense she swore to protect the Starks. Her purity used to revolt him, naive to the point of idiocy. But it’s her honor and sense of duty that brought him here to fulfill his vow. He doubted he would have followed through on many promises if not for her. Mayhaps none at all. And to see her seated alongside Lady Sansa, the successful result of fulfilling her vow to Catelyn, filled him with a sensation of pride in her and in himself- a rare feat.

 

Soldiers devoured their porridge next to him, boars consuming the last of their slop before the slaughter. Who he would kill for the salty taste of boar again. His mouth watered at the thought and he tried to remember that taste as he used his remaining hand to raise a spoonful of lukewarm porridge to his lips. If he survives the war, his first mission will be to find the nearest animal, kill it, and consume it all on his own. _Fuck rabbits, fuck potatoes, fuck soup_.

 

After finishing his final spoonful, he noticed movement across from the dining hall: Brienne. She stood from her chair, the squeak of the chair drowned out by the chorus of voices. She made her way through the dining hall, exiting towards the training yard. The lady can’t even pause for a feast, he criticized. Before he could even think about it, he stood abruptly from his bench and followed her path, ignoring the throbbing in his feet. He struggled to stay upright as he weaved around people’s bodies in the crowded hall.

 

Jaime was still awestruck by the beauty of the North. Despite the chilled winds and the gloom of darkened skies on the horizons, the snow covered hills and pure openness felt like a glorious opposite of King’s Landing. The last time he was at Winterfell, he didn’t focus on the natural beauty of the landscape, the intricacies of the architecture, or the complexities of the castle. His thoughts remained only of Cersei, of her beauty and how badly he wanted to fuck her. Nothing else mattered to him: castles, the Starks, his morals, nothing. _Cersei called me the stupidest Lannister,_ he sneered to himself, _and perhaps she was right._

 

As he stumbled into the training yard, he saw Brienne leaning against a barrel, frantically cleaning her sword. From his position, there didn’t appear to be any dirt or blood on the weapon, but she behaved as though she recently sliced through hundreds of men. Her hand continued to wipe the blade with a dirtied cloth as he approached, either unphased or unaware of his presence.

 

“Lady Brienne.” She jolted suddenly, the blade narrowly avoiding slicing her hand and he felt guilt creep up his throat. “My apologies if I startled you, my lady.”

 

Brienne cleared her throat, cheeks again flushed crimson. “Nonsense, no need for apologies. I didn’t hear you follow me.” She paused, making eye contact with him for the first time. In the darkness of winter and the dread of war, the sight of bright blue was a welcome experience. Even after all this time, her eyes still managed to render him speechless. A woman of few words yet when she looked at him, all of her stories and feelings bled out. She placed the blade back in it’s sheath, gleaming like the closest stars during twilight. Brienne shifted her eyes away from him again.

 

Jaime laughed to himself. Shaking his head as he strode across the yard, his golden hand hung limply at his side. Resisting the urge to throw the golden atrocity, he found his position next to the ladder near her, only a few barrels away. Jaime rested his arm against the rung on the ladder, almost groaning as the pressure on his foot alleviated. “Who would have thought that the honorable Maid of Tarth and the Kingslayer would one day fight for the same side?”

 

Her face remained stoic, a statuesque expression meant for someone like her. “I’m not in the mood for quips. “

 

“Why so glum?” He teased, tracing his finger along the patterns of a wooden ladder. “Missing a certain red bearded Wildling this evening?”

 

“Her Grace requested that I begin preparing the weaponry tonight.”

 

Jaime’s eyes widened for a moment, his finger freezing. “Tonight? Surely there’s still time-“

 

“There’s no time!” She exclaimed, standing quickly, orienting her body to face his. Even from several feet away, she still towered over him. In front of her, the several barrels appeared to be no more than foot stools. “Winter is here, Ser Jaime. Whether we like it or not, the dead will be storming onto Winterfell any day now and we will be joining them if we don’t prepare.”

 

A crow cawed above their heads as it flew by, already anticipating the feast before the bodies have even fallen. The wind howled through the branches around them, what’s left of the dead leaves rustling along the snow. But more than anything, he heard his heart pulsing in his ears, uncomfortably loud in their current environment.

 

He could have said any number of things: he could have reassured her, comforted her, perhaps offered his assistance in preparations. Instead he said: “You’re frightened.”

 

Lady Brienne stared at him, surprise etched on her face like greyscale. “Of course I’m frightened! If you’re not frightened you’re either delusional or stupid and I don’t believe you to be either.”

 

Her hands trembled lightly at her sides as she turned away and began tromping away awkwardly. For what she lacked in grace, she made up for in theatrics. He smirked to himself at the thought, quickly following her again. Although their differences in height were minute, their differences in speed were substantial. Trying to keep up with her on his two swollen feet felt an impossible feat, but then again, he often surpassed people’s expectations of him-for better or worse.

 

“It’s quite alright to be afraid, my Lady. We’ve all seen those creatures. They’re fucking horrible,” he interjected between his breaths as his pace increased. Brienne seemed to increase her speed as he talked. So he followed suit. The further they got away from the castle, the more Jaime began to feel at ease. Sometimes he forgot just how unsettled he was in the wolf’s den, knowing at any moment their focus may change from the Great War ahead to the political war in Westeros. And although he tried to ignore the many whispered _Kingslayer_ remarks, it felt like he was more of an enemy than the Night King. But under the dark sky, with nothing but their conversations and the cracks of footsteps interrupting them, he began to feel his shoulders relaxing. “I’m just not familiar with you being so expressive. It’s rather woman-like, if I may say so.”

 

She turned around suddenly and he dug his heels into the ground to avoid crashing into her. As he looked up at her face, prepared to tease her for changing her mind, his breath hitched in his throat. Her eyes were full of tears, the red covering the blue irises in wet film. The arrogance disappeared and left his mouth slightly agape.

 

“This could be our last night on Earth and you choose to mock me? You choose to ridicule me?” Her words were sharp with anger. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, creating her own steel armor atop her true armor. As hard as Brienne tried to cover herself, to shield herself from his scrutiny, he could still see the cracks in the armor. Brienne attempted to still her lip, but it quivered. Her youth showed on her face, the aging brought on by war and death and defeat suddenly melting away to reveal the frightened young woman within. “I know that I’m no lady, but I did not defend you in front of the entire North just for you to disrespect me.”

 

“I’m not mocking you, Brienne,” he replied, dropping the facade. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, truly.” She kept looking at him with the same expression.

 

He sighed. “Look, if the world as we know it ends tonight, if we’re murdered and ravaged and turned into fucking dead monstrosities, then wouldn’t you rather know you spent your time laughing instead of crying and fearing the inevitable?”

 

“I would rather know that I spent my final hours doing everything I could possibly do to save myself and the people I love,” Brienne stated, her right arm untangling from her left as they dropped to her sides. “If I’m not willing to sacrifice everything to save those most important to me, then how dare I call myself a...” She paused.

 

“A knight?” Jaime suggested.

 

Brienne scoffed half-heartedly. “I’m no knight.”

 

Jaime fell silent. A small part of him urged him to laugh, to make a joke to ease the tension. In his heart, he knew that he really didn’t want to laugh anymore-and neither did Brienne.

 

“We’re not going to lose this war,” Jaime insisted, impulsively grabbing her right hand with his left. Her fingers were callused: nothing like the softness of Cersei’s. Jaime’s hand didn’t appear drastically different from hers: both rough and hardened from fighting in a number of battles. “We are going to fight until we can’t fight anymore. We may not have the numbers, but we have the honor, we have the hope, we have the purpose. So fuck the gods if they deem loss to be our fate.”

 

Brienne stared at their hands for a moment before cracking the slightest glimmer of a smile. Their eyes connected again. “I don’t believe you’re supposed to curse the gods.”

 

Jaime smirked again. “I’ll curse anyone who stands in my way.”

 

Brienne’s face filled with blood again, the embarrassment striking her cheeks. “I suppose I should be making my way to the armory now. Gendry needs all the help he can get. Besides, Her Grace will be sending someone to check on me at some point.”

 

She let go of his hand and the chill of winter wrapped around his palm instead. She turned to walk back towards the castle, her heavy feet crunching in the snow. He couldn’t turn his attention from her distancing silhouette. The further she walked away, the more the tension built up in his shoulders again. When would he see her again? On the battlefield?

 

_Let her go, you fool._

 

Jaime’s stomach churned. He tried to ignore the acid biting and clawing his way up his throat. The last thing he wanted was for her to prepare the weaponry. Weapons meant war and war meant death. He lost enough people for three lifetimes and to face another war means to lose everything. Cersei, Tyrion, Bronn.

 

_Brienne._

 

“Wait.”

 

They both froze, his voice an unexpected warmth in the winter air. He wished he could swallow the word again, let it find permanent residency in his lungs. Jaime never was the Lannister with the greatest capacity for verbal conversations, for speaking eloquently. He much prefered to let his siblings do the talking and he would use his sword to speak for him. But now that the word slithered out of his mouth, he needed to own it. “Stay with me. Just for a few moments more.”

 

Brienne’s breath heaved out of her throat: winded, as though they’d been dueling instead of talking. He wished they were dueling-no fights are nearly this uncomfortable. And if he were defeated in battle, he’d be regaled in the songs as a hero, a warrior, a martyr perhaps. But being simply rejected made him a chump, an imbecile.

 

_The stupidest Lannister._

 

But she didn’t turn around.

 

Jaime licked his cracked lips, further splitting his bottom lip in two. He winced as his tongue tasted blood. _Words are wind and I hope mine blow far away._

 

Brienne’s back rose and fell with every breath-but she still didn’t turn. For the first time that evening, his cheeks flushed a soft pink. His head dropped, glaring at his own boots in the snow. He’d never felt this vulnerable before, not even in Cersei’s bed. Even when they were young children, experimenting away from their father’s attention, there was a familiarity. They’d been closer than any two people could be, brought into the world from the same womb.

 

But this was entirely different. At one point, Brienne was his enemy, a frigid wench whose loyalties couldn’t have lied further from his. He was her _hostage_. And she served Catelyn Stark, who, although he grew to admire, fought in direct opposition to his family.

 

But at some point, beyond Harrenhal, beyond the North and prior to his return to King’s Landing, something shifted. Jaime couldn’t stand to see Brienne beaten, harassed, nearly raped by Locke and his men. His stomach clenched as Locke’s men dragged her away, injuring her and trying to rip off her tunic. Her screams echoed throughout the woods, echoing from tree to tree. The sound was horrid, like an animal being slaughtered. The horror reminded him of the numerous brutal mistreatments of Queen Rhaella in the Red Keep and when the Mad King forced him to stand outside, listen, and do nothing. Say nothing. Be nothing.

 

He never wanted to feel that powerless again.

 

Jaime spun a lie about the sapphire isles, how she’s the heir to Tarth and how Brienne is worth more alive than dead. He saved her in that instance and lost a hand for it-but he never regretted his choice. She was here, as pure of body as she was of heart. And if anyone deserved to survive the war looming ahead, it was Brienne.

 

He remembered his desire to be as honorable as Ser Arthur Dayne at one point in his life. Although he abandoned that dream into his adulthood, being with her reignited that fire again. She was as brave and honorable as the knights in the summer songs.

 

Somehow, their travels brought them closer together rather than pushing them apart. The world saw him as the _Kingslayer_ , a title that branded him forever. But she saw him as a man of his word- and that made this situation much more difficult.

 

Jaime felt more a boy than a man and he wished she would say something, anything.

 

“Okay.”

 

Jaime’s eyes widened in shock, snapping his head up. He focused again on the back of Brienne’s blonde head. Did he imagine it?

 

But then she turned her head slowly and made eye contact with him, the blue intensity running chills down his spine. Although she never was one for cruelty, he could tell with absolute certainty that not only was she being honest, but she struggled with her words just as much as he did. Her insecurities coated her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her jaw tensed.

 

If his comments slipped out of his mouth, hers oozed out like molasses.

 

“If this is our last night,” she started, wringing her hands together in front of her core. “I want to be here with those I care about. ”

 

His lips spread into a smile. “Those you care about,” he teased, lightly. Jaime took a step closer to her, slightly raising his left eyebrow. “That’s rather vague, even for you.”

 

Brienne look at him in exasperation. She sighed deeply, shutting her eyes. She straightened her back, letting her lips part slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

 

She opened her eyes again, holding his eye contact. As their truths melted into the air, they both appeared to freeze. Neither of them knew how to continue. The world grew quiet: the wind ceased blowing, the birds stopped chirping, leaves fell stagnant in the snow. If he had thought that he understood the awkward stillness of winter, he knew nothing until this moment.

 

“Brienne,” he muttered, slicing through the tension like flesh. Even her name felt intimate coming off of his lips. “I’m not going anywhere. This will not be our last night. I don’t know how but… I’m not finished with this world quite yet. I may not be the great swordsman I once was, but I still have many great deeds to accomplish before I die. I plan to live for quite a long time.”

 

Her face was inquisitive.“How can you possibly be so hopeful?” she questioned, furrowing her eyebrows. “We’re staring death in the face, fighting creatures with nothing to live for. How can we possibly succeed?”

 

Jaime strided over to her, all anxieties and pleasantries crumbling to the floor like dust. “Because I have something to live for.” When he was face to face with her, he wrapped his left hand around the nape of her neck, bringing her head down closer to his.

 

Brienne’s breath warmed his face and all he felt was dragon fire. Both of them were breathing deeply, but rapidly. Having her so close made him feel dizzied like the maidens in all the songs. He could feel the cold sweat on the back of her neck, from nerves or pure fear, he couldn’t say. Their breastplates pressed against one another, scraping together when they move. He never noticed the pattern of freckles that dotted her cheeks, an astrological map of the stars. He studied each one for a moment, trying to remember each shape, each color. When he looked back into her eyes, they shined like the Sapphire Isles where she grew up.

 

_She may not be beautiful but she is extraordinary._

 

“Ser Jaime,” she spoke, slightly too loud for their proximity. “What are you doing?”

 

He froze, wondering if it was worth the effort to quip.

 

“I don’t know,” he confessed.

 

She chuckled softly before wrapping her hand around his hand on her neck and gently removing it, letting it fall back to his side. He furrowed his eyebrows.

 

“My lady,” he started.

 

“It’s quite alright. There’s a lot of work to be done. We mustn’t waste any more time,” she demanded. She turned away from him, running her hands through her hair quickly.

 

“Waste?” He chuckled to himself. “I would hardly call our time together a _waste_.”

 

Brienne turned her head to glare at him. “You know that’s not what I meant, don’t manipulate my words.”

 

“Ah, so I’m manipulating you, as well.”

 

Brienne threw her hands up, rolling her eyes. “What do you want from me, ser? Do you want to argue semantics?”

 

Jaime couldn’t stop the laughter that boiled out of his throat. “I don’t want to argue with you, woman! Are you so dense? ”

 

She dropped her hands by her sides. “Then what do you want?”

 

He inhaled quickly and stomped over to her. His left hand reach up to grab her cheek, forcing her to look into his eyes. More gently, Jaime used his golden hand to push her hair away from her face. “I want _you_.”

 

Her eyes widened, the redness spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. For a moment, she appeared to forget to breathe and all at once the air rushed out of her mouth again. “What?” She whispered, unable to look away from him. She stood soft in front of him with the vulnerability of a maiden.

 

“If you’re waiting for a jest, then I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Jaime smiled softly, his eye drifting down to her chapped lips for a brief moment before looking at her again. “You are the truest friend I have, the most honorable person I’ve known, and one of the greatest swordsman I’ve ever fought.” His calloused thumb rubbed across her fiery cheekbone, warming his frozen finger with her heat. Brienne swallowed at the touch. “You are a knight in every way except titles and you make me want to be a better man.” He trailed his thumb over to her bottom lip and caressed it, giving them both chills. “I want to fight alongside you, I want to live each day after the war with you.” He leaned in closer to her, pausing before their lips could brush up against one another. “Is that what you want, Lady Brienne?”

 

Brienne didn’t say anything, her eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. “I’m no lady.”

 

He grinned and pulled her closer, their lips joining together. His hand moved to the back of her head to pull her down closer to him. Their chapped lips brushed together in a pleasant way, raising goosebumps underneath his armor. He couldn’t fight the smile on his face as he kissed softly, slowly, waiting for her response.

 

Her lips, too hard and tense, ground against his. Afraid of bashing their teeth together, he pulled her head back from his slightly, just enough to give him space to take the lead. He bit her bottom lip gently, hearing a surprisingly feminine moan from her, before releasing. He rested his golden hand against her neck, feeling her shudder underneath his cold touch. Their kissing sped up, their noses sliding against each other. Brienne’s right hand grabbed his shoulder tightly, grating their breastplates together awkwardly. Jaime tried to recall the last time he kissed someone with so much clothing between the two of them and nothing came to mind. With Cersei, the need for constant skin-to-skin contact drove them to ferocious lunacy at time, wild animals pawing each other to meet some animalistic need.

 

This was an entirely different experience. They were two warriors of the seven kingdoms, staring death in the face and sharing any last possible moments together. Every kiss was with trepidation, kissing harder to avoid quivering. Two fools, one completely inexperienced and one with only relative practice, grasping for any shred of humanity within each other.

 

Brienne pulled Jaime closer, causing him to stumble and step on her foot. Jaime cursed under his breath as they both broke apart from each other, laughing amongst themselves. The laugh was not that of a lady, but of a soldier waiting for battle in a camp. The sound felt familiar, homely, in a way he hadn’t felt in many moons. Jaime stared into her eyes for a moment, allowing himself to swim within them. The matching smile on her face made his heart pound against his chest.

 

_Hands of gold are always cold but a woman’s hands are warm._

 

A horn sounded from the castle.

 

The smiles dropped from their faces suddenly as they turned to face the castle. Jaime’s heart fell and pooled at his feet. It couldn’t be time-he didn’t anticipate a battle until beyond the morrow. The silence felt deafening.

 

Another blow. This sound roared longer, engulfing them in a chilling sound. Even from a distance, Jaime could hear shouts from the soldiers. Swarms of Dothraki exited the castle walls, assuming their positions in the open field.

 

One last blow. The last blow was longer, a blow that seemed as if the end was never in sight. Brienne and Jaime looked at each other, the previous joy falling from their mouths. The wind whipped against their faces, strong enough to almost make them fall over. The air felt colder, the sweat drops starting to freeze along his neck. No matter how much time he spent in the north, he thought he would never get used to the constant cold. But this cold was otherworldly, biting at their skin like a thousand blades.

 

With a hardened face and eyes filling with tears, Brienne grabbed his face. “We will fight together. We will survive together. And tomorrow, we can speak about the future.”

 

Jaime swallowed and nodded swiftly, pulling her close for one last kiss. Their lips smashed together in a passionate fervor, lacking all of the playful energy they had prior. They pulled apart quickly and ran towards the castle, the wind ripping through their hair.

 

With the long night breathing down Jaime’s neck, he recalled the occurences of the evening. One night with Brienne reminded him of everything he fought for his entire life. To have a future, one with any form of potential love, felt too close to let drift away.

 

If this is his last chance for honor and for joy, then let the Gods be damned if he goes down without a fucking fight.


End file.
